


Waiting Doors

by withthekeyisking



Series: Sladick Fics [23]
Category: Nightwing (Comics), Teen Titans (Comics)
Genre: Anxiety, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Exes discussing things exes don't usually discuss, F/M, Gen, Good Slade Wilson, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Light Angst, POV Slade Wilson, Parent Dick Grayson, Parent Slade Wilson, Parenthood, Past Character Death, Past Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson, RIP Joey Wilson, SladeRobin Weekend, SladeRobin Weekend 2020, Unplanned Pregnancy, discussions of fatherhood, i mean not really but he's not an ass in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:07:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23775826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withthekeyisking/pseuds/withthekeyisking
Summary: What Slade doesn't expect early on a Saturday morning: Dick Grayson appearing on his doorstep with a worried frown and some big news.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Slade Wilson, Dick Grayson/Koriand'r, past Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson - Relationship
Series: Sladick Fics [23]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1307747
Comments: 43
Kudos: 331
Collections: SladeRobin Weekend 2020





	Waiting Doors

**Author's Note:**

  * For [crookedspoon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crookedspoon/gifts).



> For spoon, who came up with the idea for this fic and then nudged me in the direction of writing it 😊
> 
> SladeRobin Weekend 2020 Day 1: Highest Bidder | Sugar Daddy | **Unplanned Pregnancy**

Slade's been in Gotham for four days, which is three and a half too many.

It's been an irritating job, having to deal with feuding crime families and two-bit thieves, and he's happy that it's over, the (albeit large) amount of money he made simply a small consolation. He's planning to head out this afternoon, go meet up with Billy somewhere and drink off the stench of Gotham, but right now he's allowing himself a quiet morning in a safehouse, decompressing. He's made breakfast and coffee, and is now reading a novel Billy recommended.

It's peaceful, something Slade usually detests. He's a man of action, after all, and enjoys his line of work. But Gotham tends to bring this out, the need to just sit somewhere with silence. It's one of the—many—reasons he tends to avoid this shit city, if he can help it. He's forcing himself to take advantage.

Which of course is the moment there's a knock on his door.

Slade just lifts his head and stares at it for a moment, withholding a sigh; no one except for his clients and Billy know he's in Gotham at the moment, and neither of those parties should be telling anyone (his clients would find themselves with bullets between their eyes if they betrayed the contract, and Billy simply would never).

He gets to his feet as whoever it is knocks again, putting his book down and picking up the handgun on the coffee table in front of him, then makes his way over to the door on nearly silent feet, pulling the hammer back in preparation as he leans down to peer through the peephole.

And then he sighs, lowering the gun. He unlocks the deadbolt and opens the door, but stays in the doorway to block the entrance, cocking an eyebrow at his visitor.

"What are you doing here, Grayson?"

Dick offers him a grin, charming as ever, but it doesn't quite reach his worried blue eyes. "Good to see you too, Slade."

"Let me reiterate," Slade says. "Tell me how you knew I was here."

"You gonna let me in, sourpuss?"

Slade debates just shutting the door in his face. The indignant squawk that is sure to follow it is almost worth it, since messing with the kid is always fun. But often, in the past, Grayson showing up on his doorstep meant Slade was probably about to have a few pretty great hours with the quite flexible hero. Then again, Slade's pretty sure Grayson and the Tamaranean have been back together for a while now, and the kid is no cheater.

Which means odds would say this is about business instead, and Slade's _so close_ to leaving Gotham; he doesn't want to get pulled into some new plot just because he has something of a soft spot for the kid.

But there's something in his eyes, some sort of worried strain, that has Slade pursing his lips and stepping to the side, allowing him entry.

Damn. He really is going soft in his old age.

Dick smiles, an expression that looks almost relieved, and walks quickly inside the apartment, glancing around. Slade doesn't stop him from looking, simply relocks the door and crosses his arms, waiting.

"You reading this?" Dick asks, picking up the novel on Slade's recently vacated seat. His expression lights up a little. "I love this book! Alfred actually gave me a first addition for my birthday one year; it was even signed. I barely wanted to touch it at first."

"Kid."

"Of course, what's the point in owning something if you don't take the time to enjoy it, right? I—"

 _"Grayson,"_ Slade interrupts forcefully, and Dick looks back to him with an uncertain smile. "Why the hell are you here?"

Dick smirks. It seems forced. "Y'know, I don't think I used to get such a hostile reception from you."

Slade resists the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose.

He's certainly not someone who should ever be giving parenting advice, but sometimes he really does have to fight the urge to yell at the Bat about how fucked up in the head his kids are. All those boys—Grayson, Todd, Drake, the baby Wayne—are so incapable of expressing emotion like regular human beings. Now, Slade supposes he can't completely blame Wayne for how the demon brat turned out considering the _stellar_ parenting of the League of Shadows, but he _can_ blame him for the fact that Grayson came over here out of the blue with something _obviously_ on his mind, and still is unable to just _talk_ about it.

Not that Slade's going to bring that up, of course. God forbid he question the Bat's parenting around Grayson; it's a surefire way to get back a snapped remark about Slade's _own_ skills (or lack thereof) as a father, which would lead to a fight, which then might lead to some pretty fantastic sex. He's pretty sure that last part is off the table, though.

"That's because I wanted to get in your pants," Slade says bluntly, and Dick snorts, his eyes sparking in amusement.

"And now?"

Slade's eyebrows go up slowly. "I was under the impression," he says slowly, "that you and the princess are currently together."

Dick looks startled by the mention of the Tamaranean, and the amusement that had briefly captured him is gone again, buried back under that worried shine in his eyes. "No, I wasn't hitting on you, I was just—"

"Kid," Slade interrupts again, sharper this time. "You're very quickly approaching the end of my _endless_ patience."

Dick huffs a laugh. "Endless, huh? That's new."

Slade just stares at him, expressionless, and the kid falters, smile fading. "Sorry," he says, a tad awkwardly.

"Why are you here, Grayson?" Slade asks again, three times more than he would usually offer anyone else.

Dick swallows and shifts his weight from side to side, as if hyping himself up to speak. His eyes are everywhere and on everything except for Slade, and Slade's getting close to forcing the kid into a chair like an errant child when Dick blurts out, "Kori's pregnant."

Slade blinks. Huh.

"Alright," Slade says slowly. "And you're freaking out _why,_ exactly?"

The kid looks at him incredulously. "She's _pregnant,"_ he reiterates, like Slade didn't hear him right the first time. "I, for clarification, am the _father."_

"Well, I'd sure hope so," Slade agrees, feeling somewhat humored by this. "I know Tamaraneans tend to be all _free love,_ but you're definitely the monogamous sort. Hate to think she was betraying that."

Dick's face scrunches up, maybe offended on behalf of his girlfriend, maybe just at the general idea of it all. Slade doesn't care enough to examine it.

"Seriously, kid," Slade says, shaking his head. "What's your problem? Why are you here with me instead of celebrating?"

"I can't be a father," Dick protests, something slightly panicked at the corners of his words. "I—I'd be an awful father! I'd completely fuck the kid up, and then there'd be a fucked up kid out there with freaking _superpowers,_ which is just practically _begging_ for a supervillain to take under their wing—"

"Christ," Slade says, shaking his head. "What time is it? You need a drink, it'll help you calm the fuck down."

Dick frowns at him, irritated, but Slade doesn't give a shit. He goes back over to sit back down, picking up his coffee and taking a long sip. It's cooler now, having been abandoned in place of all this drama, and he grimaces at the taste.

"Grayson," Slade sighs, looking over at the younger man. Dick's still standing, body still twitching slightly like he's fighting the urge to really start moving. He's dressed for the outside world, but it feels almost haphazard; jeans tucked into unlaced boots, half of his t-shirt stuck in the waistband of his pants, one of the sleeves of his leather jacket hitched up awkwardly on his forearm.

Slade wonders how quickly the kid ran after hearing the news, and if there's a pregnant woman out there somewhere who thinks she's just been abandoned.

"Why do you think you'd be a shit father?"

"I don't know how to do this," Dick says helplessly. "I don't—"

"Okay, first of all, no one does before they have a kid. Hell, even _while_ they have a kid. It's all making it up as you go. And two, yes, actually, you do."

Dick frowns. "What?"

"Grayson, you've done the dad thing before," Slade says, exasperated. "Robin worships the ground you walk on, too, so I'd say you did it pretty well."

The kid stutters out a laugh. "I—what? No! That's different, Damian isn't..." He trails off, wincing, and instead says, "Damian was already ten years old when I started taking care of him. He was practically a fully-formed human, this is...this is a _baby,_ a baby that is counting on me to—to be their dad, and raise them, and _shape_ them! I don't think I can do that, I'm gonna do it wrong and mess the baby up—"

"Take a breath," Slade orders sharply, and Dick does it immediately, instinctive, then shoots him a dirty look. Slade smirks.

"Why are you here, kid?" Slade asks again.

"I told you, Kori's—"

"Pregnant, yeah, but you've got quite a few people you could be freaking out about this to if you want, and yet you came here. I'm curious as to _why."_

Dick's mouth twists, and his eyes slide away again. Slade waits. Dick sighs, rubbing a hand across his forehead, and then walks over to sit on the couch across from Slade. He leans forward, forearms braced on his thighs, hands clasped loosely together.

"I've been thinking about my dad a lot recently," he says after a few long moments. "And my mom. How they always made being my parents seem like the easiest thing in the world, how they always knew what to do and what to say. How they were about as close to perfect as parents could get." He takes a slow breath. "And then how they died, same as anybody else. Being amazing parents didn't stop them from falling, didn't stop me from having to see it happen.

"So let's say you're right, and I turn out great at this. Let's say I am the best dad this kid could ask for. I still spend night after night putting myself in danger, like my parents performing without a net every show. I've been shot and stabbed and strangled and tortured and buried alive and suffocated to death, and got lucky enough to still keep going after all of it. But all it takes is one lucky bullet, one Gotham criminal putting acid on ropes, for it to end for me. And then my kid has to live with the fact that their dad is dead.

"I don't know if I can do this," Dick confesses, continuing. "I don't know if I can be a good father and a good hero. I don't know if I can give this baby everything they're going to need from me, or if I'm going to give them all the wrong things and hurt them in the long run. I'm terrified I'm going to pass on the worst of myself, and not the best. Because Kori and this kid...they deserve the best."

"Dick," Slade says, far gentler than most people get from him. "Why are you _here?"_

Dick looks up at him, something thoughtful in his troubled eyes.

"You could never say it," Dick says levelly, "but while we were—well, whatever we were, I suppose—you...cared for me. I know you did. And I loved you too. So I guess I'm here because...other than Kori, you're probably the only person I think has ever seen all of me—the good, the bad, and the ugly—and still never flinched. Right now, Kori's opinion is a bit biased. But I trust you to tell me the truth; do you think I can do this? And not half-assed, but actually be a good father?"

Slade's tempted, for a single moment, to tell him _no._ To crush the small amount of hope in Grayson's eyes, the small amount of pleading for someone who understands him to say he won't fail his kid. Slade's been fighting that kind of instinct around Dick from the beginning, the small want to just crumble him in his hands, break him for anyone else.

He knows how. He knows the exact words to say right now to pull at each of Dick's insecurities, each of the things the kid hates about himself, every doubt he's ever had about his worth and his place in the world. It would be easy, like snapping a toothpick in half. Dick is gorgeous when he's broken, a piece of fucking art, enrapturing to watch. Slade could make it so he falls in his direction.

Like he said, he's been fighting this urge for a very long time, every time he and Grayson came together. But the kid isn't...wrong, exactly, about Slade's...feelings. Maybe. And right now is not the time to pettily try to prove him wrong. Now isn't the moment to tear him into pieces.

He could never do it, despite how much he sometimes really wants to.

"Yes," Slade says honestly. "I know you, Grayson. And you're going to be an excellent father."

Dick smiles at him, his entire expression lighting up, blue eyes shining, and Slade's reminded of the fact that the kid isn't only gorgeous when he's broken.

"Yeah?"

Slade rolls his eye. _"Yes,_ Dick. Take it from someone who really knows what it's like to be a shitty father—you're just about one of the best people I could imagine having a kid."

The smile gets even wider, truly overjoyed, and then fades just a little, something hesitant creeping into his expression. He bites his lip, eyes darting briefly away, clearly trying to get up the courage to say something.

"Spit it out," Slade snaps, never having had the patience for this kind of thing.

"Joey told me something, once," Dick says, gentle and yet quick, like he wants to get this out before Slade cuts him off. Slade's expression shuts down in response, not in the mood for a discussion about his son—not ever, not with anyone, not even Billy or Grayson—but the kid doesn't let that deter him, continuing on.

"It was a memory, of the three of you. You, Joey, and Grant, I mean. You were home at the time, between jobs. Of course, they didn't know about that stuff yet, just knew you had to travel for work, but—anyway. There was a carnival going on a few towns away, and they wanted to go so badly, like all kids do. Adeline was out at the time, and Joey and Grant begged you thoroughly enough that you actually caved for probably the first time ever, and agreed to take them.

"You told them it would only be an hour and then you all were going home, but you ended up staying for far longer. You won them some stuffed animals, and bribed some of the attendants so they could go on the rides they were too small for. You let Joey ride on your shoulders, and carried Grant in your arms back to the car when his eyes started drooping."

The look in Dick's eyes is ever so gentle. "It was one of Joey's favorite memories with you, but not the only one."

"Why are you telling me this, Grayson?" Slade asks gruffly.

"You weren't a perfect father," Dick says, dipping his head in a small nod. "I won't lie and say you were. But you weren't horrible, either. Joey had a handful of nice stories about growing up with you. He never hated you, Slade. Not ever."

Slade gets to his feet and walks over to the window, hands sliding into his pockets. He doesn't say anything, and after a few moments he hears Grayson stand as well, heading towards the door; at least the kid isn't pressing. He's always been good about that.

The door opens, and then there's a pause. "Hey, Slade?"

Slade grunts, looking at him through the faint reflection in the window. _"What,_ kid?"

"Thank you," Dick says, heartfelt, and Slade tilts his head just enough to see the kid out of the corner of his eye. "For everything. And there was a second reason I came here." He smiles again, bright like a fucking star. "I just really wanted to tell you about my kid myself."

And then he's gone, the front door clicking shut behind him.

Slade stands there for another minute, frowning, his thoughts stuck on Grant and Joey.

He remembers the day Dick just recounted to him, though he's surprised _Joey_ remembered it; the boy was only three at the time, usually an age that memories fade. Then again, with Joey's powers, who knows what really could go on inside his boy's head?

That had really been a stressful day, on Slade's part. He'd only been back home for five hours, and Adeline vanished. He wasn't often left alone with the boys, which Slade figured was fair; considering how often he was away from home, Adeline had every right to keep a close eye on Joey and Grant. But that day, they'd gotten into a fight—Slade was exhausted after traveling, Adeline was pissed that he'd been gone two weeks longer than he'd said he would be—and then Adeline stormed off, really a first between the pair of them.

Usually it was Slade leaving to avoid emotional difficulties.

But she left all the same, probably to just go blow off steam somewhere, and left him alone with the boys. Apparently Grant had heard about the carnival at school and was desperate to go, and Joey had picked up on his enthusiasm and immediately joined in, so he had a three-year-old and a seven-year-old jumping up and down and promising everything they had to go to the carnival.

He knew that Adeline wouldn't like it, that she'd be pissed that he took their sons to something big like a carnival without her there to actually watch over them. _That_ is why he agreed, in the end. Not because his boys wanted it so badly, but because he wanted to spite his wife.

Yeah, father of the year.

It...had been nice, though. He'd had a good time with Grant and Joey. And the fact that Joey remembered it so clearly, remembered it enough to share it with his hero friends—Slade can't quite identify the feeling that brings out in him. But it's not a...bad feeling.

Slade stands at the window for a while longer, trapped in the past, until his phone buzzes with an incoming text message. He goes over to pick it up, and snorts when he sees it's from Grayson.

There's a picture of what looks like a Deathstroke plushie, which has Slade staring incredulously; who in their right mind would want to create a stuffed toy of an international _assassin?_ How could they possibly make any money off of that?

There's a message with the photo: _Stopped in a baby shop to buy a ceremonial onesie for Kori, and they had a whole section of superhero-themed toys, and some villains too. So obviously I'm buying this for my kid ;P_

Slade rolls his eye, tossing the phone down without replying, but he's sure Dick knows what his message has done; pulling Slade out of his rumination, thinking once again about what the future will bring.

He has to admit, he's looking forward to meeting the young Grayson. He can't help but smirk; maybe _this_ one will be more interested in an apprenticeship.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Sladin Weekend everybody 😁 Hope you enjoyed, and see you tomorrow!


End file.
